bogeyandruby

Hullabaloo, day fifteen and half way though. The scream for cream has subsided to a whimper and will hopefully settle there until reintroduction. Insert wistful sigh right about now.

The benefits, at least for me, are emerging slower than the Spring thaw, not quite as stubborn as molasses. A little less bloat, improved gastrointestinal function, clarity of thought at least twice a day, and a rib-spotting earlier this morning.

Ian’s data is more scientific: 10lbs lighter (after breakfast and wearing fleece penguin pyjama bottoms, the kind that weigh at least a kilo or two) and an inch and a half less around the middle. I am thrilled to be losing weight vicariously though him. It almost feels as though I’ve lost weight too.

Almost, not quite.

One thing I have noticed so far is that I cannot skip a meal. No way José. I got into trouble yesterday after eating a late lunch then heading into town to watch a play that Ian’s daughter was in.

Right before, we stopped by the Plâteau to pick up some ordered prints from lovely street photographer Mikaël Theimer, who, by the way, has offered to take our “after” photo, then dropped by the Starbucks near the theatre to gulp down some black coffee.

Chugging his café allongé, Ian munched on the organic almonds and dates he brought along but I desisted because almonds make my teeth hurt and dates remind me of large, legless cockroaches. I simply cannot eat anything that looks like it was once alive: no pleading eyes begging for mercy, no hands and feet waving good-bye, and no insect shaped food with or without appendages. The only exception to the latter rule would be rainbow-coloured, fruit flavoured insects made with 100% sugar and food colouring.

Getting back to the play, it totally rocked but by the time I left the theatre I was weak at the knees. Not far from the ground, I know, but still wobbly. Snatching the snack bag from Ian, I closed my eyes and pretended I was eating date squares. It helped briefly but was no replacement for a solid meal. And eating something substantial at midnight wasn’t really an option.

Thank goodness for the clocks moving forward. It was the perfect excuse to get up for an earlier breakfast.

Lesson learned. To be fair, two weeks ago sugar ruled. Now I am forced to respond to my body’s needs.

I probably won’t post about our Whole30 adventure as often from here on in, that is, unless my nine subscribers clamour for more which is highly unlikely considering how slim and trim they all are.

See you on the other side of the hill!

Checking up on an old friend.

A hilarious scene from Alkestis, performed by second year theatre students at Dawson.

Day thirteen. Prime number, Fibonacci number, compound number, lucky number, evil number. 

Ian just lost his pants walking from the living room to the kitchen. I guess it’s better than losing an eye or his lunch.

We are a quarter of the way through this plan. There is hope and it is light at the end of a very tight tunnel. We are looking forward to good health and skinny jeans.

Okay, maybe not skinny, boot cut would be fine too as long as they are blue, have a snap and don’t expand to accommodate middle-age spread/muffin tops/cake tiers/pot bellies.

Ian weighed himself yesterday and has already dropped six pounds. He’s feeling better and more energetic. I am not tempted to step on the scale because I purposefully didn’t weigh-in on day one.

Unfortunately, I am lagging behind when it comes to energy levels, something the plan warns may happen if your body is used to relying on sugar as fuel. I also have to eat more often than Ian, in the form of nutritious snacks. This can be quite distracting as I am used to ignoring those signals in order to save myself for chocolate.

We’ve filled the week with activities that we enjoy: music, books, movies, and creativity. We also managed to cope with evenings out, declining the delicious food we usually enjoy at our beloved Mariposa Café and opting instead for Perrier and tisanes.

This coming week will present a new challenge as we are back to work. Not so much avoiding the forbidden food as planning ahead so that we have enough to eat for the day.

I absolutely loathe meal prep and cooking so I am grateful to Ian for doing the good majority if not all of it. My fridge has never been so full. My kitchen, never so messy. Oh well, It was about time I put it to use.

Finally, although I didn’t step on the scale or take a dreadful down-to-my-skivvies selfie under fluorescent lights, I do have a before picture of us taken by street photographer Mikaël Theimer on the first day of our plan.

Tum to tum, voilà!

You can read about days one and four here and here.

See you in a few days!

                             

Thirty is a number I know all too well from my runs. On those days when it feels like an uphill trudge all the way, I like to divide my run into increments, partly as motivation, mostly as a distraction to get me through it. It is effective if not very mindful. My treadmill celebrates my progress in percentages of ten but that isn’t enough for me. I divide the thirty minutes by thirty : one thirtieth; two thirtieths or one fifteenth; five minutes is one sixth of the way through followed immediately by one fifth at six minutes; seven and a half minutes is one quarter; and ten minutes is one third. Sometimes it’s so bad, I’ll divide a minute into sixty and count.

You get the picture. I do the math.

I’m coping with this whole30 plan pretty much the same way. Yesterday, we were at the ten percent mark. But day five is tomorrow and that means we are a sixth of the way through. Woo hoo!

The book explains what we should expect by use of a timeline. Day 2 to 3 is the hangover phase : “The amount of suck you experience in this phase is directly proportional to the amount of junk you consumed before you began the program. Especially if you consumed it consistently.”

Uh-oh.

I am clearly still in the hangover phase, headachy and foggy, my Hobbit body mourning the sudden removal of sugar as a source of energy, my mind adrift as it can no longer count on chocolate as a reward for getting through the day. Apart from these feelings of malaise, I am also having to adjust to actual hunger pangs, something quite foreign to me, as I almost always eat according to cravings. This is especially surprising because I am eating way more in terms of volume of food, three meals instead of my usual one meal plus snacks.

For the most part, this plan has been easy to follow. Today’s big challenge was not licking the peanut butter off my fingers after making toast for Sean. And I still miss my usual coffee concoction. Ask Ian how many times I’ve reached for the cream since we’ve started this thing only to shout, “Arghh, no cream!”

Something is definitely shifting, even after only four days. My tummy is less bloated and this morning I could actually see my eyes without having to move things aside. Ian is feeling a difference too and having less side-effects than me.

Apple slices and almond butter for a snack. And black coffee. 😦

My partner and I started the mother of all diets today: the Whole30.

Back in 2007, I cashed in some retirement funds, invested in a good quality treadmill, and changed my eating habits. My motivation at the time was to avoid a strong family history of diabetes. Having entered motherhood at age forty-one, I did not want to be an unnecessary burden to my son later in life, at least not if I could avoid it. Eighteen months later, I had lost a total of 45 lbs.

Fast forward nine years and one divorce later and half of that weight is back on.

There may be a million excuses as to why it has crept back on, but the main reason for getting it off, again, is my health. Any aesthetic benefit will simply be an added bonus. (Oh, to wear jeans without spandex again!)

This challenge is 30 days long and the rules are clear in terms of what we can and cannot eat. There are some foods in my diet that are making me sick (and tired) and I need to first eliminate them before introducing them back, slowly, in order to determine which one(s) is/are the culprit. I’m pretty sure that sugar is at the top of the list. Nothing is too sweet for me … I am sadly, pathetically, totally addicted.

Lucky me, my sweetie has agreed to do this with me. He’s the chef extraordinaire and I am on clean-up duty. Our fridge is chock full of fruits and vegetables and we are taking advantage of Spring break to get a handle on this major lifestyle change. The most positive thing about doing this together is the moral support we will give each other, particularly on those days when we are tempted to throw in the towel.

The focus here is not so much weight loss as it is health gains. I so want to feel better. For this reason I did not weigh in this morning. Nor did I take any measurements or selfies. Have you ever felt great on a particular day only to weigh yourself and see a much higher number than expected? Ugh. I’d rather not focus on the numbers.

The first day is almost done and so far so good. The most difficult challenges? Drinking my coffee black this morning instead of putting a little coffee in my cream, and not having something sugary to look forward to at the end of the day. Sigh …

As a nutritionist friend/colleague once advised me: “Sharon, you’re going to have to find something else in life that makes you happy.”

The next thirty days will be as much a mental challenge/learning curve as physical. Right now I am taking it one day at a time with some strategic non-food rewards thrown in, like playing music with my sweetie, reading a good book, writing, and photography.

Thai coconut soup

Whole30

I dreamt about my friend Mike two nights ago. He still had his legs and was playing electric guitar, although he never played an instrument when he was alive. I could hear the music loud and clear, yet I listened to him in a detached way, as if he were far away instead of right in front of me. Other people appeared in my dream that night but he was the only one who came to mind when I woke up, with a thud, feeling cheated because there was no fog, no doubt, that he was dead, and anything I did to ease that heaviness just made it worse. So I threw off the covers and lay there, under the ceiling fan, eyes open, until it eased, and I could breathe again.

I came across this old post from three years ago and decided to save it here. I remember that walk vividly. We don’t get nearly enough walks these days and I feel really guilty about it.

Sharon Cheema

January 16, 2013 at 1:35pm · 

Off Leash

Decided to be mindful during my Sami walk just now and avoid the usual direct line between points A and B. We started off by leaps and bounds, zig zags and wig wags, all the way to the park, with the wind hurrying us along and Sami turning around periodically to make sure I was keeping up. We scaled the snowbank blocking the entrance to the path, lost and regained our footing, slid to the bottom, fell into snow craters left by big feet, and jumped into others on purpose. We surged ahead on the smooth parts, paused to sniff the air for friends and left our mark so they’d know we had waited.  Noses down, we investigated EVERYTHING, unearthing relics from last summer, eating leftover leaves and twigs from fall and washing it all down with crunchy January snow.  We chased scaredy squirrels and barked at anyone who would listen, “Hey, are you there? We’re over here!”. We raced up the hill, caught our breath at the top and coasted down the other side, hesitating ever so slightly at the fork in the path at the bottom before turning right. The snowbank loomed ahead but this time we got stuck on its icy steepness and had to be carried over. The wind from the South met us on the other side making us balk at the thought of going home. That is until we remembered cookies waiting. Flipping a rude finger at points A and B, we sprinted as fast as we could, arriving happy and spent and ready for whatever was next. And that was our Sami walk today.

The waiting room was moderately filled with enough empty seats to allow for winter coats and purses placed strategically so that no one else would sit too close.

I made the tactical error of sitting next to an innocuous-looking woman who was soon joined by her husband. He plonked himself down on the other side of her with a combination of breathy wheeze and whistling fart. I wish I could say that was the end of it but it wasn’t. The throat-clearing/sucking noises he was making from somewhere deep in his airways made me suspect he had a tracheostomy but I resisted swinging my head around to check. Knowing there was a medical reason for the sounds would have made me feel empathy for him and I needed a better distraction than that under the circumstances. Instead, I imagined Vincent Price as The Abominable Dr. Phibes, who ate from a hole in one side of his neck and communicated via a phonograph connected to a hole on the other side. Dr. Phibes was well-nourished enough to summon the ten plagues of Egypt to kill a bunch of medical personnel that he blamed for his wife’s death.

Random February: an old post written 2015-2-24

Namaste.